


Waking Up

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: The Recovery Series [2]
Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Recovery, Waking Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:09:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same AU as and prequel to Weekend Visit. Quinn is in hospital in Germany, after 5.12, and slowly regaining conciousness. Quinn's POV. Answer to the prompt 'C/Q and a bed' here http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/107099.html.</p><p>Part of the Recovery Series, snippets and oneshots around the fanfic Weekend Visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

Voices. Light. Pain. Silence.

Voices. Different voices. He can't understand what they are saying but he knows they are voices. Human voices.

Drifting in and out.

Pain. Fear. 

Sounds. What kind of sounds? A constant hiss. A lot of beeps. Regular klicks. A pump?

Voices again.

Some voices return. Every...day? Every Night? Is there a pattern?

One voice is always there. Among the others. And often just this voice.

With light and poking fingers comes the pain.

With darkness comes silence, except that one voice. He can't make out what the voices are saying, it's blurred, white noise, behind a veil.

Drifting in and out.

The voice, the one voice nearly never goes away. Sometimes it's just a whisper, sometimes it's...yelling?

When that voice stops, it's dark. And warm. Warmer as when all the other voices are talking.

He likes that feeling. And that voice.

A male voice comes back often. Calm, serious, with gravitas. It's that voice which cuts the veil for the first time.

-Don't loose your faith, Carrie, this is not his last battle.

-I'll never give up on him, Andrew, never.

It's her. Carrie. Whoever Andrew is.

Carrie. She is here.

After he managed to make sense out of what one of the voices was saying, it happens more often. Just for...seconds maybe? Or is it minutes before he drifts away again into the fog?

She talks a lot. Did she always talk so much?

He tries to listen, tries to pick up and process what she says.

When she stops talking the warmth comes back. The softness. Feels good. Secure. It's her, making that.

Other voices come and go. Light. Pain. Poking. It's cold then. He wants them to go away. He wants her to stay. Wants her to make it warm again. It's always dark when it's warm. No other voices are there when it's warm.

Except, maybe one or two times? The male voice from the beginning.

-Carrie, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. No, don't be ashamed. I bet, he doesn't mind you sleeping there. Quite the opposite. He fucking loved you...I'm sorry...he loved you as far as I could see that, believe a man who is married for over thirty years here. 

Yeah, whoever it was, he was right. So that's the warmth and the softness.

Sometimes the pain is unbearable. Sometimes she's yelling then. Not at him, he doesn't think so, at someone else.

He just gets bits and pieces.

-...give a fuck...more morphine...I know he is suffering....I just know...give more...my fucking decision...

Then he drifts away again.

He is there longer stretches now, at least he thinks so. Can't open his eyes, can't move.

People come and touch him. Stretch, bend, turn him. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it just does...nothing. Some parts of his body feel numb. Most parts actually.

He remembers what happened. Pain. Fear. He has to get away. Not again. Not again.

Hears her voice. Panic in her voice.

-I need oxygen here, I need help...he's suffocating. Fuck, I need help.

And then:

-Quinn, I'm here, nobody can harm you, I'm here, you are safe, I'll keep you safe.

He can breathe again. His left arm hurts, probably an injection. Last thought before he falls back into a dreamless sleep, my left arm, I can feel my left arm.

When it's quiet in the dark, she is there. Sometimes whispering, he can't hear what she says, often silent. But it's warm and soft and secure so he knows she is there. 

Or is it just a dream?

Another voice. Light. Very strong light.

-ECT pattern...more activity...stimulation...

When they are gone, and it's dark, she cries. She cries often. This time he feels the wetness on his shirt. 

He. can. feel. it. 

He wishes he could make her stop crying. Why is she crying? More brain activity should certainly be a good thing. He's not vegetable.

At night, the pain's coming back, someone is pulling and pushing, can't they ever just let him...it's different, it's her. She pulls his left arm and bends it and suddenly she is very close. He doesn't mind the pain now.

He tries to listen to her, he really tries.

-...know you are there...please...come...please...here...waiting...

Maybe it's time to try. But he can't. He can't move, can't talk, drifts away.

But he tries now. Every minute he is there he tries. Focuses on the left hand. 

Think, process, transmitter, move.

Only...it doesn't work.

Think, process, transmitter, move.

Trying, really fucking trying. For her.

He is longing for the warmth. 

The days have a pattern, at least he thinks so. Morning rounds, a lot of voices, they do open his eyes, shining a light, maybe a torch, pupils are reacting, we should schedule another scan, someone pulling and pushing him, her voice is gone then, she's not there, it's painful, basic PT probably, different female voices several times during the day, nurses probably checking, Carrie's voice, not very close, reading to him, afternoons maybe, another female voice, someone turning the lights off, the night shift, he thinks, and then, silence. She's often holding his hand, and then again, the warmth, when she is there, close. 

He thinks, it's real. She's really there. Isn't she?

And then, one night, he can do it. 

Only, she's not holding his hand.

He thinks, she is sleeping.

Think, process, transmitter, move. It works. He does it again.

He is excited. Gets ambitious. If he can do that, maybe he can open his eyes as well. But he can't.

So focuses on the left hand.

Next time she holds his hand he tries. And it works. Or doesn't it?

Think, process, transmitter, move.

Again, but the fog is about to swallow him again. Is she awake? It still feels so warm and good.

-Quinn? Quinn? Oh my god, oh my god, Quinn, do that again.

Think, process, transmitter, move.

-Quinn...you are here...squeeze when you can hear me...

Think, process, transmitter, move.

-Quinn...one is for yes, two for no, ok?

Think, process, transmitter, move. Oh Carrie, always asking more than one can give, this is so fucking exhausting.

-Do you know what happened?

Think, process, transmitter, move.

-Do you know who you are?

Think, process, transmitter, move.

A short break.

Do you know who I am?

Again. Think, process, transmitter, move. How could he not.

She squeezes back. 

-Welcome back, Quinn. You must be tired, that's ok. We go on tomorrow.

Think, process, transmitter, move.

-Quinn? You're still there?

He does it once more.

-I am so fucking incredible happy. 

He never let's go of her hand. Only, the warmth, during the nights, that doesn't come back. Maybe it was a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Before you kill me for not letting her snuggle in his bed again...this is not happening again before a couple months later, see my story Weekend Visit for that and more to happen.


End file.
